


The Lost Witch

by mina_roman



Category: Anastasia (1997), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-21 09:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30019701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mina_roman/pseuds/mina_roman
Summary: There was a time where there existed an enchanted world with witches and wizards and a magical castle. The magical world was peaceful, coexisting in parallel to its non-magical counterpart. But a dark shadow had descended, a dark wizard by the name of Voldemort. He was power-mad and dangerous. Those who stood up to him were murdered, including a young family of Aurors who stood in his path to power and were his ultimate downfall. So many lives were destroyed in that war, even the young daughter of that family, who mysteriously disappeared.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 42
Kudos: 19





	1. Fired

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the 1997 film, Anastasia, I hereby produce a fic incorporating my favourite characters into a similar storyline as the movie. Kinda_Kozy you were a life saver beta-ing the beginning of this fic for me! Your inputs were so valuable so thank you 💜

Ron Weasley Apparated into Number Twelve Grimmauld Place and stormed up the stairs into his room, kicking aside his desk chair and causing that morning’s post to falter to the ground. His owl, Pig, nervously zoomed around in distress. The vibrant orange walls in Ron’s bedroom radiated back the heat that coursed through his body and his flaming hair. He was cursing under his breath when his best mate, Harry Potter walked in.

“Er… what happened?” asked Harry.

“Umbridge sacked me!” barked Ron. “That foul evil toad, I could seriously hex her! I wish I had!

“You were sacked?” Harry’s jaw dropped,  _ “Why _ ?”

“I saw a draft of a law she proposed on elves – I know I’m not supposed to read that, as an assistant – but it just caught my eye. All I did was suggest that elves get  _ at least _ holidays! I mean fine, they don’t want to get paid, but they need days off!”

“I can’t imagine she was happy about that,” said Harry.

“You know what she said?” Ron didn’t even let Harry open his mouth before he continued, “she said they’re meant to die of work!”

“But surely she didn’t sack you over that?”

“Well, no. It’s what I said after,” admitted Ron, “I told her Voldemort was dead and only his followers would say that stuff and all those bastards should be sent to Azkaban. She was furious! You know her stupid girly voice? She actually broke that when she yelled at me to get out! At least I have the satisfaction of provoking her.”

“Blimey, well done!” Harry grinned, beaming at him. Ron let out a big breath and unclenched his fists, not having realised how hard his nails had been digging into his flesh. 

“I don’t even care that I was sacked, but her contempt for elves and muggles and anyone she thinks is below her never gets called out! She was obviously a You-Know-Who supporter.”

Harry scrunched his nose. His parents had died during the Wizarding War against You-Know-Who in one of their Auror missions that had gone wrong. 

“Maybe this is your way out, you hated the Improper Use of Magic Office,” said Harry.

It was true, Ron had only applied out of worry he wouldn’t get another job offer. His marks hadn’t been terrible, he had actually managed to do well in certain subjects. He just hadn’t found any career prospect particularly appealing, the only exception being in the Auror program like Harry. Although Ron had been accepted, his mum wouldn’t hear of it. She had lost her two brothers fighting in the war. So he’d taken the first acceptance and never thought of another career. Now, the realisation that he had to find a new job was sinking in.

Ron looked awkwardly at Harry, his neck glowing all the way up to his ears.

“I won’t be able to pay rent this month… with the way things ended, I definitely won’t get paid.” 

“You don’t need to pay me anything! Take it easy while you find another job, I’m not ever going to kick you out.” Harry smiled and patted Ron’s back as he exited the room.

He knew that Harry would not get upset, but he still felt awkward because money was a touchy subject for Ron. His large family of nine had never been particularly wealthy. They lived off of second hands in their disheveled home, but his parents made sure they never went hungry despite feeding six boys and a girl. Harry had never asked for rent, but Ron would not live for free at his house. He had been working hard and trying to save, but he’d send any extra sickles to his parents or younger sister, Ginny. He needed to start looking for a new job. 

With a big sigh, he picked up the morning’s Daily Prophet, turned his chair upright and flipped to the vacancies section. As he looked for the right page, he caught a glimpse of an article promising a five-hundred thousand galleon reward. It was a continuation from the cover article, and quickly flicking back to the frontpage, he saw a large photograph of a family of three taking up the central space. They were smiling and waving. The woman had a kind smile and bushy brown hair that was bursting out of her witch’s hat. She was holding her husband’s hand; he sported a grin that reached his chocolate brown eyes, laughing at his young daughter with her own cheeky smile. Ron read the headlines:

THE LOST WITCH – VANQUISHER OF HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED

By Rita Skeeter

Eight years ago this Christmas, Hugh and Jean Granger were murdered by the dark wizard, You-Know-Who, which effectively ended his reign of terror and brought peace to the Wizarding World. Hugh and Jean Granger were prominent members of the wizarding community, actively fighting against You-Know-Who as Aurors. The couple pursued and arrested many of his avid supporters, including the Malfoys and the Lestranges. After the capture of the latter, specifically the notorious witch Bellatrix Lestrange, it is suspected that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named sought to murder the Grangers who were impeding him from fulfilling his domination of the wizarding world. For after the imprisonment of the Lestranges, it was rumoured that the Grangers went into hiding and not even their closest family or friends knew where they were. However, on Christmas Day of that year, their bodies were found in their home, located in the village of Ottery St. Catchpole where other wizarding families also took up residence. From that night onwards, You-Know-Who vanished, seemingly bringing about his own end. The details that led to his demise remain unknown, but perhaps the biggest mystery of what happened that night begs the wizarding community to ask whatever happened to the Granger’s only child, Hermione Jean Granger (see picture above). Sceptics believe that the girl, who was ten years old at the time, also died. However, newly surfaced rumours reveal that because her body was never found, Hermione is in fact still alive. It is unsure how she would have survived and not been found, especially if she had any magical abilities, as underage witches and wizards have a trace on them that allows the Ministry of Magic to detect the use of underage magic until it breaks on their seventeenth birthday.

A firm believer that Hermione is alive, is her maternal grandmother, Minerva McGonagall, who is also Headmistress at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the last living relative of the Grangers. Her public stance seems to have changed as until recently, she refused to comment on her missing granddaughter’s circumstances. Now, however, McGonagall is offering a five-hundred thousand galleon reward if Hermione Granger is reunited with her… (see page 10 for details).

  
  


Ron groaned. Five-hundred thousand galleons would be more than enough money for the rest of his life, but there was no way he would ever find Hermione Granger. He had always thought the girl, who would have been the same age as him, was dead. From age eleven, mostly all witches and wizards were sent to Hogwarts, even muggle-borns. If Hermione had been a witch, she surely would have been found and would have gone to study. From his own experience at the Improper Use of Magic Office, he knew there was no way to hide underage magic. Had she ever accidentally used magic, the Ministry would have been aware. And if she had been a squib or born without any magical ability, then it seemed very unlikely she would have even survived You-Know-Who’s curse. No, unfortunately, she was probably dead and anyone trying to find her was in for a lost cause.

Putting aside all thoughts of You-Know-Who and the Grangers, he flipped the pages until he found the vacancies section. He settled down, resting his head on his arm as he tried concentrating on the job titles: Shop Assistant at Borgin and Burkes – Ron gave a loud snort, unlikely; Dragon Keeper at Gringott’s –  _ hell no! _ ; Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts – that was rumoured to be jinxed; Help Desk Assistant at St. Mungo’s – nope… 

Ron unknowingly nodded off but was jolted awake by Kreacher, Harry’s house elf, who had jabbed him unnecessarily hard on his leg. 

“Wazzermatter!”

“Master Weasley, your mother has Flooed in and is waiting for you downstairs,” Kreacher croaked. 

“Er, right…” said Ron, groggily, “I’ll come down in a second.”

Kreacher left with a bow. It wasn’t lost on Ron that he had called him ‘Master’ and bowed to him. It had been a while since Kreacher had insulted him under his breath. He had an aptitude for being nasty to them and Harry had told him off on multiple occasions. Harry and Ron had never been cruel to him, but it wasn’t until they tried being  _ nice _ to Kreacher that he slowly started to reciprocate. Yet Kreacher still had never called Ron ‘Master’ before. Realising the elf might have overheard why he’d been fired, he felt his ears go warm.

His mind turned to his mum who was downstairs waiting for him. She must’ve found out from his dad that he’d been sacked by Umbridge. Ron shifted down the stairs coming up with all the ways he could reassure her that he’d be okay, but as he reached the entrance hall, his mum threw her arms around him and broke down sobbing.

“Mum,” he tried soothing her back, “it’s okay. I hated her, and I’d rather work somewhere else.”

“Oh Ronnie! Your father’s been sacked!” she exclaimed in between sobs

Ron was taken aback. 

“What? What do you mean?”

“And Percy, too!”

What a fucking bitch! Umbridge had gone after his whole family, using all her influence at the Ministry. Ron knew Harry would happily loan them some money, but it was too awkward asking him to help them all out. He had to take matters into his own hands. Ron felt more determined than ever to try and help his family now, in any way he could. His mind flickered back to the article about the reward for finding Hermione Granger. Five-thousand galleons was a lot of money, and it would help his family out now that his dad and brother had also lost their jobs. All he had to do was find a girl who could fool Minnerva McGonagall into thinking she was the lost Hermione.


	2. The Opening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron has an ace up his sleeve that sets his plans in motion, but he needs to find help from an old friend first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't keep this chapter for myself anymore, since I couldn't think of anything else to add/change.   
> Again, Kinda_Kozy gave me some solid notes to help this chapter come along, so thank you beta 💜  
> PS – go read her work!!

It was nearly midnight when his mum had calmed down enough to Floo back home to the Burrow. Though knackered, Ron had gone back to his bedroom to study the article more carefully, trying to piece together a plan. He had only been seven when the Grangers had been killed, but he still remembered his parents hushed up in the kitchen that Christmas night after the news of their death had spread. There wasn’t much else that stood out to him from that night. Except… Ron furrowed his eyebrows recalling an item he didn’t often give much thought to. Reaching below his bed, he retrieved his old Hogwarts trunk where he had placed the only item in his possession that he considered of great value. He took out a small parcel wrapped in an old Chudley Cannons t-shirt and gently unravelled it to reveal a diadem.

The memories of how he acquired it flooded back to him. That Boxing Day, the day after the Grangers’ murder, he himself had visited the house that had been blown up by the curse. His brothers had been playing Quidditch and refused to let him join, and in anger Ron had stomped off from the field where they were. He hadn’t noticed how far he’d strayed before he was standing before the Grangers’ house. At the time he didn’t know it was theirs, he’d only seen a house with a collapsed roof, shattered windows, and an open front door inviting him in. He didn’t remember walking in, just suddenly standing in a family room, curiously looking at the toys on the floor, the open book on the sofa and the mug on the coffee table, as if someone had stepped out for just a moment. He still remembered how the hairs on the back of his neck prickled up at the eeriness, as scattered rays slit in through the darkness when a twinkle caught the corner of his eye, which he followed, finding at the source a thin silver crown that seemed to have winked at him. When he’d picked it up, the weight of it in his hands had surprised him because of its delicate appearance. He hadn’t even had time to examine it when his mum’s furious screams for him had alarmed him, and in a panic, he’d hidden it in his jacket before running out so she wouldn’t find him where he was not supposed to be.

It had been a while since he’d last taken a look at the diadem. Every time he did, he’d silently admire its beauty and feel a sorrow he couldn’t explain. Ron always wondered why no one went looking for it, it was so beautiful, but had he not found it, it would’ve remained lost and forgotten. He was now admiring the single oval sapphire stone that sat in the centre. His shoulders felt heavy, realising he could easily sell it somewhere like Borgin and Burkes or to someone like Mundungus Fletcher, the petty criminal who sold smuggled goods in Diagon Alley. It was stupid, he knew that, and it was selfish too, but Ron couldn’t just pawn it like that. The only way he would give it up was if he were to return it to the Grangers.

_ Bloody hell, that’s it! _

He felt bad enough thinking that to get the reward he’d have to deceive old Professor McGonagall, but – but he could help her reunite with Hermione, who she  _ thought _ was Hermione. And he could do so, he could help her believe it really was Hermione! He had the diadem. McGonagall was her family, she would have known about it, and it’s a detail no one else would know about, he was sure of it. If he had to do one bad thing, maybe it would balance out with returning the diadem to the family. But he’d need help.

_ Fuck. _

He couldn’t involve Harry or his own family. If it was ever found out he had conned McGonagall, the whole wizarding world really, he’d surely be sent to Azkaban. He couldn’t do that to Harry, not after staying under his roof. Harry would lose his job and also be taken as an accomplice. Ron thought back to his mum’s weeps. If he were caught, her heart would break. He couldn’t imagine her pain if her whole family were disgraced, and really, it had been his fault his dad and Percy had been sacked as well. Who could have just as much to gain from doing this and not be afraid of getting caught? He lay down on his bed staring up at the ceiling, racking his brains thinking who he could ask for help and slowly, Ron blinked his eyes shut until he was in a deep sleep where he dreamt of a house in ruins and a girl chasing a cat…

When Ron awoke the next morning, his dreams were forgotten, replaced by the previous day’s events that redirected his attention to his next steps. There was only one person he could ask for help. Without overthinking it, he took out a piece of parchment and scribbled a short letter. Then, he opened the cage to let Pig out.

“Take this to Hagrid, okay?” 

Pig hooted happily with his new mission and flew out the window, the letter attached to his leg. 

Ron didn’t expect a response from Hagrid for a few days, so he spent the rest of his time locked in his room aligning the pieces of his plan. After two days, Pig zoomed in through the window with Hagrid’s response:

_ Dear Ron, _

_ Good to hear from you.  _

_ Let’s meet at the Leaky Cauldron this Friday ‘round four?  _

_ All the best, _

_ Hagrid _

Ron sent back his reply. Until then, he kept strategising the intricacies of his plan.

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron was quiet, though it would surely pick up in a few hours since it was a Friday and Diagonal Alley was sure to be busy. The only other person there besides Tom, the innkeeper, was Ron, who found himself sitting at the bar, sipping his butterbeer. When he’d nearly finished his pint, a large and towering man patted Ron on his back causing him to nearly fall off of the stool.

“How’re yeh, Ron?” Hagrid scooted next to him, pushing out his seat as his round belly would have been squashed by the bar.

Ron gave him a big smile, Hagrid was as colossal as ever, with his black beetle eyes twinkling through the mass of wild beard and hair that framed his face.

“I’ve been better,” admitted Ron. “What about you?”

“Ah well yeh know, I lost the teachin’ post after yeh lot left Hogwarts,'' Hagrid grunted. Ron felt a pang of guilt because Hagrid’s current circumstances had come about when he’d started at the Ministry and Umbridge had drafted legislation making it nearly impossible for half-breeds to work. Though Ron had never openly asked Hagrid, he more than suspected that Hagrid was at least part giant.

“I know, I’m really sorry Hagrid.”

“Minnie let me stay on as gamekeeper,” said Hagrid, “sometimes I want teh leave though. Not much fer me there.”

Ron’s heart thumped faster.

“Well I, er, I’ve been sacked from the Ministry.”

“Yeh what!”

Hagrid gave him a grave look and Ron went ahead and filled him in on his dad’s, brother’s and his own sacking from the Ministry, resulting in his need for money.

“What yeh gon’ do?”

This was the moment he’d lay his cards out in the open. Ron looked at Hagrid straight in the eyes and said, “I want to find Hermione Granger.”

Hagrid arched his caterpillar eyebrows.

“How’re yeh goin’ ter find her?”

Ron let out the breath he hadn’t noticed he had been holding.

“Well, not necessarily Hermione Granger…” said Ron, trying to read Hagrid’s expression, “McGonagall is looking for her, but Hermione’s been missing for over eight years! No one would know better if it was someone else… And there’s a reward you see, and er, I really need the money – not for me! It’s to help my family, I reckon Umbridge will use all her influence to make it impossible for dad and Percy to get jobs somewhere else.”

“Merlin’s beard, Ron!” Hagrid ran his hand over his gruffly beard. “Fool Minnie?”

Ron gave a big sigh.

“I know what I’m asking for, Hagrid. That’s why I couldn’t ask anyone else, but I think we could help each other. What do you say?”

Hagrid didn’t say anything, still stroking his beard.

“All we’d need is a girl! The rumours, the legends, the mystery! It’s already written!” The words poured out of Ron’s mouth, he’d thought it over and had come up with a plan, “and don’t you think McGonnagall could at least get some peace of mind? She’d be reunited with her granddaughter! Who she thought was her granddaughter, and isn’t that better than never knowing what became of her? I get it, it’s not right, but I need to do something, help my family. And if it all goes to hell then sod it, I tried. We don’t all get to live with sunshines and butterflies, and nothing is fair so we might as well help ourselves survive.”

“I’ll help yeh Ron,” said Hagrid, slowly, “I reckon we’ve got each other at least. If we get the money, might go down ter France ‘n live out there, might be good fer me health.”

Ron nodded eagerly, feeling more confident.

“We’ll find a girl to play the part and teach her what to say. It can be any girl, we don’t even know if she’s a witch or a squib! We can start by looking for someone who looks like her,” Ron pulled out the photograph he’d cut out of the Prophet, “I mean she’d be around my age now, and have these general characteristics.” Ron looked expectantly at Hagrid.

“You and I can pull it off, Hagrid!”

Hagrid simply nodded, but the small smile he gave Ron sent a wave of relief through him. The pieces he’d sent in motion were starting to come together.


	3. A Road Not Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Mya to leave the only place she remembers ever being. She knows there's nothing left for her there, and is determined to learn more about where she came from, but for that, she has to make a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might know by now, this space is reserved for Kinda_Kozy who as always, helps beta my chapters, free of charge (that was supposed to be my Lockhart voice) 💜💜 Please feel free to leave any comments below, as things are switched up a bit, and want to know what you think of it!

“Bye! Goodbye, everybody!” Mya waved as she was pushed out the door of the orphanage by Madam Rosemerta. 

“I got you a job in the fish factory,” Madam Rosemerta repeated for what seemed the hundredth time. “You go straight down this road to get to the coach stop for London.”

“Or,” said Mya, “I could find a library and look up missing girls that could help me find out who I am!”

Madam Rosmerta gave a snort. 

“Be grateful!” croaked Madam Rosmerta, “For eight years I fed you, I bathed you, I clothed you and now I get you a job! Forget about your family, they didn’t care about you, they forgot you!” 

She turned back in before promptly closing the door.

“They did care,” Mya said under her breath, twiddling the chain round her neck.

The day had come a little sooner than anticipated, but Madam Rosemerta’s generosity had never been extensive and she could only guess that Mya must be around eighteen by now and no longer under the orphanage’s responsibility. Mya had spent the last eight years of her life there, but unlike the other children, she had not wanted anyone to adopt her; she expected her family to come and find her. To Mya it seemed an accident that she’d ended up in the orphanage; she couldn’t believe her family would have abandoned her in the middle of a field completely alone, without any bags, without memories, without so much as a name. The only possession she’d had when she was found was the pendant that still dangled over her chest. As she twirled the chain, her first memories came back to when Madam Rosemerta asked her name as she awoke, but she wouldn’t mumble more than “M-my.” 

Madam Rosemerta had expected someone to come looking for her, but as days passed, weeks came and seasons went, the little girl that had been found was christened “Mya.” If the incident hadn’t been so tragic, it might have simply been curious to have a child placed in the middle of the most plain English countryside without any indication of how she came to be there. More curious still was how bright Mya was, despite not having any memories of schooling, she excelled in her studies, often taking advanced lessons. If she wasn’t in a library working out an algebraic equation, she would be found hiding elsewhere submerged in a book escaping to the worlds of Austen and Tolkien. 

Within the mundanity of living in an orphanage, Mya had experienced unusual moments. She once spent an entire day reading a novel, but when she had gone down to the dining room for dinner, she’d found it was only mid-morning and lunch was not even prepared, yet she was sure a whole day had passed. During a particularly cold winter, the orphanage had struggled with a shortage of wood fire and coal, but Mya never once felt even a chill, in fact, she felt as if little flames surrounded her keeping her warm. Mya had kept these strange happenings to herself, focusing instead on her studies and hoping one day to find more about her past. Though every time she tried to ask about the circumstances that brought her there, Madam Rosemerta would shut her off.

“Did you not place adverts of me in nearby villages or local papers?” She had asked, with Madam Rosemerta simply grunting.

“Who do you think you are? The Queen of Sheba?” Madam Rosemerta had smirked at her, “You’re hopelessly  _ mundane! _ ”

Mya shook off those bitter memories. She turned to have a final look behind her, swatting a stray curl from her eyes. With one last breath, she carried her trunk with all her belongings, mostly books, and set ahead on the main road determined to find answers. The path before her was mushy, causing her wellies to sink down into the slosh. The earlier storm had withered but a hard drizzle still persisted. She had long contemplated that London was her best bet for finding out more about who she was and who her family might have been. The only clue she had about her past resided in the little hourglass which hung by a gossamer thread of gold round her neck.

“Whoever gave me this necklace must have cared,” she whispered to herself. She had never seen such a peculiar and beautiful artefact, not in books nor in person, but she thought maybe there could be a goldsmith in London who recognised the work. It was a place to start at least. 

Mya set forth along the main road, the journey ahead was going to be long and she had to leave behind the orphanage. The rain came down harder when she came to a fork in the road where a small path diverged to the right with a sign reading  _ Ottery St. Catchpole  _ that was etched into wood. 

“She didn’t say anything about a forked path…” she mumbled to herself. 

Mya’s stomach gave a small flutter. Her heart beat faster. When Mya read the name of the village, Ottery St. Catchpole, a nagging feeling crept into her and she scrunched up her eyebrows. She wasn’t sure why she was drawn towards it. She had never heard of the place even though it was only about a kilometer away from the orphanage. 

As she pondered how this path had revealed itself to her, an orange blur emerged from the small path. A cat purred against her, his brush of a tail curling around her legs.

“Aren’t you a lovely little boy?” Mya mused, picking up the ginger cat. 

“I hope you’re not lost. Are your owners from the village?” As she held the furry cat to her face, she couldn’t help but giggle – his grumpy squashed face was unconventionally cute. She nuzzled her nose to his and caressed him gently.

“Would you mind helping me? I’m trying to figure out who I am. If you give me a clue, I’ll help you find your owners.” Mya looked him straight in the eyes and could’ve sworn he looked less grumpy.

“No? I can’t see a collar under all this fluff! I’m not sure if you’d like to come to London with me, there’s probably not much for me there.”

He leaped off her arms and darted off of the main road to the small path. Mya leaned down to pick him up, but this time he didn’t let her. 

“What? Do you want some food?”

The cat gave Mya a coy look, keeping his eyes locked on hers but resolved to not let her take him in her arms again. 

“Come here,” she pleaded, but he was determined and started down the path, glancing back to lock eyes once more.

“Oh great,” Mya rolled her eyes, “A stray wants me to follow him to a village I have never heard of before.”

She hadn’t actually been  _ serious _ when she’d asked for help from the furry creature. Cats and any animal for that matter, don’t actually talk to humans, she was being logical. 

But as if reading her mind, the furball dashed towards down the trail off of the main road. 

“Wait, no!”

She didn’t even consider why she cared for the cat after such a brief encounter, but she worried something would happen to him in this weather without a home. With resolve to not let him get lost, Mya trekked after the ginger feline towards wherever Ottery St. Catchpole was. 


End file.
